#sophisticated-angel
Character:Dean Winchester
Pairing:Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1,461
Warning: brief mention of nudity
Story
He wakes up slowly, relaxed in a way that can only be experienced after spending a night with a woman. The sheets are warm, the arm that rests on top of them is cool, and woman beside him lies with her back to him, sound asleep. Dean rolls over away from the morning light and rests his arm over her waist. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and remembering how she walked out of the bathroom last night, towel around her body, hair left to dry in the air. She hadn’t bothered getting dressed – there wasn’t a point seeing as she would have just taken her clothes off again soon after. The way she sat on the bed, legs poised, running her fingers through her hair while she waited for him to finish his work so he could join her. If Sam hadn’t been out, she wouldn’t have come over, at least not to his room, but as it stood they both took the opportunity.
Dean’s phone buzzes, and groggily he reaches over to answer it. “Hello?” he mumbles.
“Dean? Where are you?”
“Sammy? I’m at the motel. What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
Crap. “I’m on my way. Give me fifteen minutes.” Dean hangs up and pushes himself out of bed with a groan. Then he picks his clothes up of the floor and puts them on. Halfway through pulling his shirt over his head, the woman rolls over, awake.
“You’re not gonna make breakfast?” she wonders.
“No time. I was supposed to meet Sam half an hour ago.”
She groans. “Does that mean I’ve gotta get up too?”
“You are a part of this hunt. Also, you have to drive because he’s got my car. Where are your clothes?”
“Bathroom, I think.”
“Go get them. Hurry up.”
Still protesting, she rolls out of bed and goes to retrieve her clothes, and Dean pauses to watch her walk away. He’s met multiple women who had no problem walking around naked where he could see, but there are different kinds of comfortable. One kind wants him to see them and lust after them, another has done this sort of thing so often they don’t think about it, and the last is marked by self-esteem that makes them incapable of questioning their own beauty. This woman is the last kind; she knows what she’s got and shows it because she made her partner work for it. She told him as much when they hooked up the first time. Had he shown disrespect or insensitivity, she never would have given him a chance. He hasn’t looked at another woman since.
~ TWENTY MINUTES LATER ~
Without Sam in the car, you and Dean are free to discuss what you like. Sam is not aware of the lowkey relationship you two pursue.
“So I was thinking,” Dean is saying, “next time we can ditch Sam, we should try karaoke.”
“Karaoke? You don’t sing.”
“Not that you can prove. You, on the other hand.”
“That was onetime, and I was drunk.”
“Not that drunk. Come on. Let’s do karaoke.”
You sigh. “Fine, but only if you splurge on the private room.”
Dean agrees to that, parks the car, and you both wipe the last proof of suspicious happiness off your faces. Inside the café, Sam has already claimed a table and sits with his laptop open and three cardboard cups of coffee on the table. He hardly looks up when you approach and sit down.
Dan points at the cups. “That’s a little much even for you.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Two are for you and (y/n). Coffee’s cold by now, but it’s still caffeine. Figured we could use a pick-me-up after staying up all night.”
You mumble “yeah” and take a drink of lukewarm coffee.
Considering that you and Dean only got a couple hours of actual work down last night, Sam dominates the ‘discussion’. He got quite a bit done. It’s enough to provide a couple of leads, and so you split up again. Dean foregoes his beloved Impala in order to ride shotgun in your beat-up little compact car. Your lead takes you out to a little nature reserve on the edge of town. Once you get past the open spaces with playgrounds and pavilions, the trail winds out through the woods. Here, away from prying eyes, the two of you finally hold hands. For a little while, you do honest work and look for anything relevant to this hunt, but when nothing makes itself known, you relax a little.
“You should let me look at your car,” Dean says. “It should not be making that noise.”
“Still runs okay, and besides, it’s been making that noise so long it’s kind of comforting.”
“It won’t be comforting when you break down miles from anywhere.”
“Or I could break down in the middle of town and be just fine.”
“I watch TV. That’s not how it works.”
“Okay, well, if my car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, wouldn’t you drive out to rescue me? Meet me on a desolate highway where nobody drives, just you and me, all alone …”
“Yeah, fine, don’t let me look at your car.” He squeezes your hand. “Oh, on our way back I’ll get you some different coffee, some of that weird girly stuff you like.”
“Or we could tell Sam what I like so he orders it the first time. Or you could order it for me when he’s around. Or we could do both.”
“Nah. That information is too personal. He’d be onto us in a second.”
“He’d think you know my favorite coffee because we’re dating and not because the three of us have known each other for three years?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Do you know how many hunters Sam and I have known for much longer, and the only things we know about them are their tragic backstories? Hunters don’t share personal trivia. We have more important things to worry about.”
“Alright. We don’t have to expose the coffee thing.”
You don’t even notice that you go silent. Your mind just wanders and latches onto the nearest woodland distraction. Dean, however, has gotten to know you quite well over the past few months.
“I know you’re upset.”
“Who said I’m upset?”
“You let go of my hand five minutes ago and haven’t looked at me in ten. Is this because of the coffee thing? If it means that much to you, I will make Sam aware of your coffee preferences.”
“It’s not the coffee, Dean.”
“Then enlighten me. Is it anything a massage can help with?”
“No. I just don’t understand why we can’t tell people we’re dating.”
“I thought you said the secret was fun.”
“It was before I knew how determined you are to keep it a secret. Part of the fun of secret relationships is the risk of being found out. This is meant to be temporary, but with the way you’re acting, we’ll still be sneaking around until we’re eighty.”
“You think we’ll live that long?”
“That’s not the point!” You sit down on a nearby log and cross your arms over your lap. “I feel like a teenager saying this, but I don’t care who knows about us. I like what we have, and I don’t care who knows or what they think because I love … you.”
Dean’s expression doesn’t change as you speak, not even at your last little confession. He just looks at you, bites his lip a little, and then he wanders over to the log and sits down beside you. With a sigh, he rests his hand on top of yours.
“Years ago,” he starts, “Sam and I promised each other we would never get into a relationship even if it was with another hunter. It’d be wrong to do that to both of us. It’s too dangerous for a normal person, and with another hunter we’d always be wondering when something would finally get one of us. It was easier to just avoid the whole thing. I guess I don’t tell him about us because I’ve let him down so many times already.
“You know, your brother is one of the most optimistic, hopeful, forgiving people I’ve ever met. If he doesn’t take this as well as I expect him to, then he’s not Sam and we’ve got a bigger problem.”
Dean chuckles. “I know you’re right. We can tell him, but let’s wait one more week. I like doing it in Sam’s bed without him knowing. And for the record” —he leans in to kiss your cheek— “I’m a little bit in love with you too.”
@pureawesomeness001@super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester@thing-you-do-with-that-thing
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Warning:None
Word Count: 1,513
Summary: On their way back from a werewolf hunt, Sam and Dean discover something curious in the woods and suddenly find themselves burdened with a different kind of responsibility.
A/N: So that poll I did forever ago? This is the series that won out, and I’m finally getting around to posting the darn thing.
Story
Tired and battered, Sam and Dean Winchester trudge through the early morning woods with half-empty pistols tucked in their belts. Moments ago, they freed the world of another werewolf, and fortunately they aren’t too much worse for wear. A few bruises mar the surface of their skin, and scratches adorn both their faces, but all in all, it was a job well done.
They don’t speak as they head back to the Impala, too worn and tired of noise to want to converse. A constant sweeping of the eyes scans the surrounding woods for potential danger, though there probably is none. There was only one werewolf, but a good hunter knows they can never be too careful. No sign of any other life is seen for a good long while, any wildlife having been scared away by the monster that roamed up until a few minutes ago, but as they near the car, Dean picks up on something fifty feet to his right.
“Hey, Sam.” He gestures to the object. “See that?”
“Yeah. It looks like a blanket. Probably belonged to one of the victims.”
“Maybe, but there’s something weird about it. My hunting senses are telling me to go check it out.” Dean takes one last glance around before walking over to the blanket tucked into the roots of a tree. Kneeling, he reaches a hand out to unfold it, and his heart skips a beat when he finds a tiny sleeping child inside it. “What the hell?”
Sam catches up and looks over his brother’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“A baby.”
“Is it … is it alive?”
Dean watches the infant for a moment, relieved to see the rise and fall of its tiny chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s alive. What the hell is a baby doing out in the middle of the woods?”
Sam shrugs. “Bait?”
“For what?”
“Don’t know. Maybe someone else was trying to lure out that werewolf?”
“Who the hell uses a baby to lure a monster?”
“Not everyone has the same semblance of sanity we do.”
“I don’t think this is bait. Look at this blanket.” Dean rubs the white fabric between his fingers. “This is silk or some crap. I don’t know any hunters who have the means to wrap a baby in something this fancy.”
“So, you think it’s abandoned?”
Dean sighs. “I hate to say it, but yeah, I think somebody abandoned this baby.”
“What now? What are we supposed to do about it?”
“Find the parents, Sam. If that doesn’t work out, we contact the police and let them handle it.” Carefully, Dean picks up the baby and stands.
Still scanning the woods, Sam follows behind his brother as he heads for the car, searching for any sign of another human being. No one makes themselves known, and the brothers drive away with a baby in tow.
* * * * *
“Well, it’s a girl.” Speaking over a loud squalling, Dean finishes diapering the baby and quickly wraps her in her silk blanket.
Sam glances up from his computer. “Congratulations.”
Scooping her up, Dean nestles the baby in the crook of his arm and starts to fuss over her. She continues to squirm and cry, still protesting her recent exposure to the obviously dissatisfactory air of the motel room.
“Oh hush, you,” Dean admonishes gently. “We can’t have you waking the neighbors, alright? I get the feeling they aren’t fond of mornings or children.”
With a bit more shushing and a few pats on the back, the baby girl quiets her wailing, opting to stare up at the filthy human being holding her and telling her to be quiet.
“There we go.” Dean rewards her with a smile. “Who’s a good girl?”
She makes a huffing noise with her nose, effectively eliciting a laugh from Dean.
“Don’t go getting attached over there. She’s got parents someplace.”
“Probably. Any sign of them?”
Sam shakes his head. “Nothing yet. No missing person reports, no kidnappings, nothing. Other than that werewolf, this town is pretty uneventful.”
Unhappy with the shift in Dean’s attention, the infant gives a small yell to get it back. It works.
“What was that for?” Dean asks her. “Jealous, much?”
The only response he gets is a stare and yawn, and moments later the infant dozes off in his arms. He cuddles her closer, instinctively wanting to protect her as she sleeps. A small, selfish part of him hopes they won’t find her next of kin. Maybe then he could convince Sam that keeping her wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps it would give them both a reason to wean themselves off of hunting for good. He’s become inexplicably attached to the tiny thing in the hour or two he’s had her, and he doesn’t want to put her down, much less give her up.
“Have you fed her yet?” Sam speaks up again.
“She hasn’t asked. I’ll work on it when she gets fussy. In the meantime, what’s the plan?”
“If we can’t find her parents, we hand her over to the police. In a couple of hours, we can call around town and see if we don’t get any leads.”
“You won’t.” Castiel’s low voice interrupts the conversation.
“You could bother to call ahead once in a while, you know. What do you mean we won’t?”
“You won’t find her parents”—the angel shifts his eyes to the baby—“because she’s a fledgling.”
“A what?” Dean raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“A fledgling.”
“So … not human?”
“Angel,” Sam interrupts. “A fledgling is a baby angel, am I right?”
Cass nods. “Yes. She’s a baby angel.”
“We found her in the woods, Cass. What the hell was a baby angel doing in the woods alone? Shouldn’t she be in some heavenly nursery?” Suddenly a bit more conscious of what he’s holding, Dean begins to rock subtly and pat the newborn on the back.
“I … I don’t know why she was in the woods. I don’t know why she isn’t in Heaven.” Castiel turns away and moves to inspect a cheap knockoff painting on the wall. “She may have been abandoned intentionally.”
“So take her back. Zap her up to Heaven and put her up for adoption.”
“I can’t … I don’t want to.”
“Why the hell not?”
Castiel flicks his eyes over to Dean briefly and then looks off into space.
“Cass, why won’t you take her back?”
“Dean, if she was abandoned, she isn’t supposed to exist. She’s taboo.”
“What, like an out-of-wedlock baby?”
“More like without permission.” Cass’ voice becomes stern and deadly serious. “Angels are not permitted to copulate, much less produce offspring. That baby is proof that someone broke that rule.”
“What would happen to her?”
“She’d be killed.”
And abruptly the whole room is silent. Sam soberly closes his laptop, and Dean holds Castiel’s gaze while clutching the baby closer to himself. If he felt compelled to protect her before, the feeling has increased tenfold in the past five seconds, and repressed paternal instincts break free of their own accord.
“Angels are dicks,” he mutters. “No offense, Cass.”
“None taken.”
“What are we supposed to do with her?” Sam asks. “Is there some sort of hideout, a couple of rebel angels who could take her in?”
“Actually …” Cass lets out a breath. “I was hoping you might care for her.”
“Us?” Dean’s eyes go wide. “You want us to raise an angel?”
“That would be ideal.”
“No, Cass, it wouldn’t be ideal. Sam and I aren’t qualified to take care of a human baby. What makes you think we know anything about raising an entirely different species? You have to find somebody else …” Voice trailing off, Dean looks down at the sleeping baby, fighting back the desire to kiss her forehead.
“Dean, there is no one else. I don’t trust anyone else, not with this. If I take her to Heaven, she dies. If I place her in a human orphanage, she’ll be locked away as a specimen.”
“And if you leave her with us, we’ll probably start the umpteenth apocalypse.”
Castiel gives Dean a pleading gaze, and that same gaze is cast on Sam when he turns to face the younger Winchester. Sam studies the angel, reads the hope that can’t be expressed through words alone, and finds fear there as well.
“What if it was temporary?” Sam suggests. “What if we keep her just until we find someone better equipped to take care of a fledgling?”
“That could take months, Sam. Do you really want to be responsible for a fledgling for months?”
“Cass will be around, and he can teach us how to take care of her. We could handle a month or two, hide her until she can go someplace safer.”
Dean purses his lips, eyes flicking between his brother and his best friend, one optimistic, the other fearfully desperate.
“Dean, please,” Cass implores.
After a pause, Dean gives in. “Alright,” he says. “She can stay. Temporarily.”
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles
Hey guys so I wanna post stuff again, and right now I’ve got like two series I could start with but I dunno which one to do first, so I’ma let you guys pick. Either send me a message or send a mail thing or a comment telling me which one you guys want. Below the cut I’m putting excerpts with some general info about the series.
1. Indigo
This story has a full summary but only a few parts written. If this one wins, it will likely be posted with longer breaks between parts because I’m terrible at writing regularly. Upside, I’ve been very motivated to work on this one lately. Summary below.
On a search for the baby that was stolen from him six years ago, Sam is nearly killed - along with Dean - by a strange little girl with psychic powers under the influence of the demon who raised her. After rescuing her, they struggle to bond with the girl, to earn her trust and undo the toll that years of living with a demon has taken.
2. The Fledgling
This one is verly close to being finished - literally like 1.5 parts should do it. Unless I don’t get around to finishing the last bit before I reach the point of posting it, I should be able to post this one regularly. Summary below.
Sam and Dean find a tiny baby in the woods. Castiel reveals that she’s a fledgling - the illegal offspring of two angels - and begs them to protect her. So begins their effort to figure out what to do with a baby angel and keep her safe from the radicals who live and die by the old rules.
Character: Dean Winchester
Warning: None
Word Count: 830
A/N: I started this over Winter break when I got obsessed with Dexter so there’s a couple of Dexter references in this one.
Story
“Where am I looking?” Sam asks.
“Over there, on the end.” Dean points to three bassinets on the right side of the window. “Astor, Cody, and Grayson. One girl, two boys, and a million diapers in the last twelve hours. I am exhausted.”
“Didn’t they spend the night in the nursery?”
“The absence of bi-hourly wailing did nothing to help me sleep. I was up all night checking on them, raiding vending machines, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with triplets – (y/n), on the other hand, crashed as soon as they were out of the room.”
“She deserves it.” Sam sighs, smiles, gazes at his newborn niece and nephews, and rolls his shoulders. “I’m gonna grab a coffee from the cafeteria. You want anything?”
“Strongest thing they’ve got.”
“Got it. Congratulations.” Sam claps his brother on the shoulder. “And good luck.”
* * * * *
Even after nine months of a regular, healthy sleep cycle, twelve hours feels like an indulgence. Not that you didn’t earn it because you definitely did. Actually, you thought you’d sleep much longer, but here you are waking up to the sun shining through the windows of your hospital room, a little sore but surprisingly refreshed. Habitually, you search the room for Dean, and you find him halfway reclined on the bulky vinyl chair that sits diagonally from your bed. On his chest rests one of your three babies, and the other two each occupy a nest-like dip between his arms and torso. They sleep soundly with the exception of Dean.
“Having fun?” you ask quietly.
“I’m scared to move,” he murmurs. “I’m not sure I can.”
“How’d you get like that?”
“I don’t really know. One of them got fussy, so of course the other two started up, and I was all by myself, and the next thing I know I’ve got them all on top of me, but they’re quiet so keep your damn voice down.”
You’re willing to just stop talking completely to remove the risk of waking them, but it’s Dean who starts talking again, and he asks, “What do we do now?”
“I dunno. Pray, caffeinate, buy a highly efficient diaper-making machine. Maybe there’s an advice blog for this particular situation. How in the world did we end up with triplets?”
“Your body was having a ‘going out of business’ sale.”
“So it’s myfault?”
“You are the one who said we should have a baby.”
“Youagreed.”
“I agreed to ababy. As in one.”
“Well, I just love you so much I decided to give you three.”
“As long as you gave ‘em my looks.”
“Are you joking? I gave them mine.”
“Eh. They’re probably better off that way.” Dean takes a deep breath. When he notices the sleeping baby on his chest do the same, he smiles. As if they’ve been given a cue, the other two yawn one after the other, but then the one on the left – either Cody or Grayson judging by the blue blanket – lets out a whimper. You tense, and so does Dean, worried that he’ll get louder and wake the others, but he just opens his eyes stretches an arm. Everyone relaxes when he settles again. “What in the world are we supposed to do with triplets, (y/n)?”
“I have no freakin’ idea.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have had them. If we hadn’t tried in the first place, they wouldn’t-”
“Shh, before you wake them all up.”
Dean bites his lip, watching his son grasp at the air. “They deserve a fair chance. I don’t see how we’re supposed to give them that.”
“You wanna know what I see?” Rolling onto your side, you tuck your arm under your pillow. “I see my loving husband and the three beautiful babies he gave me. I see a mountain of diapers and spit-up-stained shirts ahead of us, and I see how you’re gonna light up when they all come running to see you when you walk in the door.”
“Would you happen to see a ‘Dummies Guide to Parenthood’?”
“I see a sign that says, ‘good luck’.”
“That’s good enough, I guess. Maybe their dork uncle can find us some legit help books.”
You chuckle. “We’ll have to ask.” Slowly and feeling every hour of labor and then not moving for another half a day, you get out of bed, shuffle over to chair and kneel down beside it. You rest your head near Dean’s right arm, next to Astor, and gently stroke your daughter’s cheek as she sleeps. The boy on Dean’s chest sleeps peacefully, the one on his left arm stares upwards with his mouth hanging open, and though you can’t tell them apart, you’re too happy to be embarrassed. Knowing the man you married, they’ll soon have individual knitted hats with their names embroidered across the front.
Dean sighs, and then he grins.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing. I just hope you realized you’re outnumbered two times over now.”
Character: Dean Winchester
Warning:None
Word Count: 711
Request: I don’t know if you take request right now, but i absolutely LOVE your littlest Winchester series. Could you write one where its bath time?
Story
Four-year-olds don’t understand that baths and showers are a perfect time to be still and get lost in your own head. Stillness doesn’t satisfy their little minds. Baths are tedious, and showers are tedious and require standing still for far too long. There’s a reason they make toys designated for bath time. Dean hasn’t gotten more than a couple rubber ducks and plastic boats. The rest of the bunker has his daughter’s belongings wherever he looks, and so he tries to keep the bathrooms relatively clutter free, but without the small basket of bath toys, bath time with a toddler would be impossible.
Lately, the story has been a rerun of a shipwreck with the fine details altered. So many rubber ducky lives have been lost – sacrificed to the Kraken, sucked down a whirlpool, eaten by sharks – and miraculously rescued. No duck ever really dies in these scenes. It’s like a corny, rubber rendering of Dean’s life.
“Hold still while I get your hair.”
The little girl pauses, a duck in each hand, and lets her father suds her hair, spits when the rinse water dribbles into her mouth. He gives her a break while he looks for the bar soap and special washcloth. When he returns, the bathwater is a raging sea. Playing along, he wets and soaps the washcloth, balls it up, and creates a meteor.
“Incoming!” he announces. The ‘meteor’ makes contact with the toddler’s right shoulder. She squeals, thrashing playfully as it makes its way down her arm, across her stomach, and around to her other arm, cleaning all the way. A second meteor gets the rest of her, and this time she fights back with her ducks. One meteor shower later, she’s been scrubbed clean.
Dean opens the drain, hoists his daughter out of the water, and wraps her in her green towel with the frog hood. Wiggling, she complains of feeling cold and is quick to climb into her pajamas. Her next task is to finish up her bedtime routine, the most important step of which is the acquisition of a very soft, very fluffy blanket. It’s the best blanket in the whole bunker, big enough to wrap around both father and daughter. The four-year-old sits on her father’s lap, feet tucked between his knees, ear to his chest, eyes on the picture book in his hands. She listens intently, sighs when it’s over. Dean gives her a kiss on her forehead.
“Your face is scratchy,” she tells him.
“Is it? Where?” Dean rubs his cheek against hers.
She laughs. “Allover!”
“How about this side?”
“Yes!” The toddler throws her arms around his head, and they pause nose to nose.
If he were stupid enough to try witchcraft, Dean would find the spell that would keep them both like this forever. He would happily spend eternity in the temple of the Holy Grail or fighting pirates in Neverland if his baby girl could stay this young and innocent with him. It’s so cliché, but he wishes she’d never grow up. He’d stop the world’s turning on its axis if it meant she’d stay her dimple-faced, tangle-haired, four-year-old self. A yawn aimed directly at his face blows fruity toothpaste-scented air up his nose and brings him out of his head.
“You ready to go to sleep?” Dean asks. The little girl nods, and he helps her get tucked in. Once she’s settled, he gives her a second kiss.
“Are you gonna stay up?”
“Yeah. I’ve got stuff I gotta do.”
“Why can’t I stay up?”
“Because you aren’t a grownup.”
“When will I be a grownup?”
Dean smiles. “Hopefully never. You don’t wanna be a grownup. Grownups have to do boring stuff like taxes and paying bills.”
“But they get to stay up late.”
“So we can all that boring stuff. And you know what? They don’t make bath toys for grownups, or frog towels, or footie pajamas. Kids get all the cool stuff. Trust me, you wanna stay a kid as long as you can. Will you do that?”
Absently biting her lip, the toddler nods. “If I stay a kid forever, are you gonna stay my daddy forever?”
Dean ruffles her hair and taps her on the nose. “Forever and ever, baby girl.”
Character: Dean Winchester
Warning:None
Word Count: 969
Pairing: Dean x Daughter!Reader
A/N: So this is a day late, but I thought I’d make a contribution to the Day of Valentine.
Story
“Everything’s cheaper the day after.”
“I’m aware, but copious amounts of chocolate will help us feel not so lonely on a day that celebrates couples. We should get big fluffy toys, too.”
“You’re such a girl.”
“You like them too. Especially the cheesy heart boxes.”
“I like what’s inside the cheesy heart boxes.”
“Alright, how about we get some of those early and spend the day getting fat and watching bad romance movies?”
Your dad serves up a plate of pancakes drizzled with syrup and a side of bacon. “That’s a no go. You have school. After that, we can do whatever you want.”
You sigh and chew on a bite of pancake. They taste amazing, as usual.
“What’s wrong? You usually like school.”
“I don’t feel like going, is all. Can I skip today? The one time, please?”
“You’ve got that test. Chemistry?”
“Government.”
“Government, right. Should’ve guessed. Studying for chemistry would’ve involved more tears and hair-pulling.” He starts in on his own breakfast. “Normally I’d give you a pass, but after this test your grades are logged, and it’s gonna be easier to get you going in a new school next week, so I’m gonna need a better reason than ‘I don’t feel like going’.”
“I don’t wanna be around other people today. School holiday celebrations are annoying.”
“Alright” —your dad pushes his plate to the side and folds his hands— “I’m gonna elaborate on that further. You don’t want to go because they’re gonna do that Valentine gift delivery thing, and you’d rather stay home than watch everybody else get a gift.”
“Pretty much. Can I stay?”
“Still no. Feeling left out doesn’t get you out of school.”
“Come on, Dad.”
“Nope. Go to school, and then we can do our thing all night long.”
“You make me go, you owe me something extra.”
Mid-bite, he reaches into his pocket and takes out his keyring. Both keys on it are for the Impala – one for the car and one for the lock that had to be put on the false bottom of the trunk when your three-year-old hands learned how to explore. The plastic, marker-colored, oven-shrunk heart between them was made for him when you were seven and experiencing your first Valentine’s Day without your mom. He tosses the ring to you and resumes eating his pancake.
“My debt has been paid,” he says, “but remember-”
“One scratch and you’ll ground me ‘til I’m thirty.”
“I’ve taught you well. Now get your butt to school before all the roomy parking spaces are taken.”
Twirling the keys, you set your plate in the sink and head for the door. Then you pause and turn around, cheek pressed against the doorframe. “Dad, am I ever gonna have a relationship?”
“Yes. You’re a good-looking girl with a personality to match. You’re gonna have suitors lining up at the door. Just choose wisely because I’ll need very little prompting to shoot them in the face.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
~ SIX HOURS LATER ~
If there’s one class you would love to get out of, it’s history. The curriculum calls for too much information to be covered in too little time, and there are too many dates to remember. That happy feeling you got from knowing most of the answers on your econ test is lost in the droning of your fifth period history teacher. To make matters worse, the Valentine delivery kid – a bored eleventh-grader named Jerry Orchard – is making his rounds about now. He enters the classroom pushing a shopping cart the school has for some reason, waits for the teacher to stop talking, and starts reading names off a list.
“Jody McBride,” he announces holding up a single rose with a tiny pink bear hugging the stem. Shantasia Holmes is next, then Amanda Santiago, then a list of mostly female Valentine recipients. Hannah McFarlan is immediately surrounded by her no-personality troupe. Jazzlyn Smith gets up and starts making out with her boyfriend DeShawn. You hold back a gag and voluntarily start reading the next chapter, and then the girl next to you taps you on the arm and points at Jerry.
“He said your name,” she says.
By the time you realize what she means, Jerry has gotten annoyed by your delayed reaction and shuffles over to your desk to deliver the gifts in his hands: a bouquet of a dozen red roses, a velvet box of chocolates, and a large white bear holding a red heart that reads ‘Be Mine’. Confused, you sit with your hands hovering uselessly over the array until they find a note attached to the roses.
Baby Girl, be my Valentine, it reads. P.S., tell everybody this is from a secret admirer.
There aren’t many people who ask about your Valentine, but you don’t care. The roses are stored in your locker, but the bead rides in your backpack, and the chocolate is smuggled into algebra. All three gifts take up the passenger seat on the drive back to the motel, and your mood is so much better than this morning that you bust out your dad’s cassette collection and blast it the whole ride.
“Did you put the tapes back in order?” your dad asks the minute you walk through the door.
“And I put them back in the glove compartment. I’m not an imbecile.”
“But are you my Valentine?”
“Fo’ sho’. Expensive chocolate and big, soft teddy bears are the way to my heart, but please tell me there’s more where that came from.”
“Sweetheart, I cleaned that drugstore out. Also, I have a subscription to Weight Watchers and 911 on speed dial. We are set for a night of being single.”
“I still can’t believe Sam got a date.”
“Neither can I.” He shrugs. “Means more chocolate for us!”
Character: Dean Winchester
Warning: None
Word Count: 567
Story:
Dotted with Legos of blue, yellow, red, and green, the floor is an organized but hazardous wasteland. Each block is sorted by size and color, and the piles are arranged in a circle around Dean, his daughter, and the project they’re working on together. The four-year-old is obsessive compulsive only with her blocks. None of her other toys are organized like this, and the surfaces upon which she creates art are left scattered with handfuls of crayons that are both brand new and reduced to nubs. Dean has to get after her every day to pick up her clothes, keep her food on her plate, and pick up after herself, but with her blocks she’s particular.
“Red one, please,” she requests.
“Which red one?”
The toddler points to a pile of the shortest large Legos by her father’s left knee. Dean hands her a block then adds a blue one to his side. So far, the structure is about two feet tall – for all her pickiness about setup, she decides what to build on the fly.
“What are we building, exactly?” asks Dean.
“A farm.”
“Ah.”
“It’s gonna have a tower for airplanes to land.”
“Even better.”
“And dragons.”
“You’d better put a hose somewhere if there’s dragons.”
“Why?”
“Because they might burn down the farm. Dragons breathe fire, you know.”
“These dragons are nice,” the girl clarifies. “They don’t burn stuff.”
“What about marshmallows? I’ll bet they could roast a pretty big marshmallow.”
“Yeah.”
“Think they could roast one as big as Uncle Sammy?”
The four-year-old giggles. “No! Where are the people?”
“Right here.” Dean dangles the Ziploc bag with a number of tiny Lego people, but when his daughter reaches for it, he pulls it back. She stands, going for it again, but she stumbles over her own feet. Fortunately, Dean catches her with his arm before she faceplants in a Lego minefield, but the farm-with-airplanes-and-dragons is caught by a knee and topples over, breaking cleanly into a top and bottom half. Father and daughter both gasp.
“Oooo, look what you did,”Dean teases. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”
“No I’m not.”
Dean sets his daughter upright and gestures to the broken tower. “Where are the airplanes gonna land? And what about those dragons?”
“I’m gonna fixit.”
“What if the dragons get impatient and eat you?”
“They won’t.”
“But what if they do?”
“They won’t.”
“But what if-”
“No!” The toddler covers his mouth with both hands and looks him dead in the eyes. “Stop talking. You have to go to the dungeon now.”
“Mmph?”
“Shh. Go to the dungeon.”
Grumbling, Dean crawls to the ‘dungeon’ – under her bed – while she rebuilds the tower. When she looks his way, he catches her with cross-eyed stares, funny faces, and puppy dog eyes. She’s quick to catch her smiles and giggles, though, and reprimands him. Then he starts sneaking Legos. Reaching out when her back is turned, he cups a hand over a pile and secrets them away under a discarded shirt. Finally, the little girl notices her Legos are disappearing, and soon enough she finds them. Dean withholds them, demanding his release before theirs.
He swears, “I just wanna help rebuild! I’ll even fight the dragons off!”
With a sigh, she gives in and allows him to come out again. “But if you are mean to the dragons,” she adds, “you have to go back.”
Character: Dean Winchester
Warning: Kidnapping, injury to kid, angst
Word Count: 2,916
Request: Hi, do you think you could write about demons or even Amara kidnaps deans daughter who is around 5ish. Can they hurt her before she is rescued by Team Free Will.
A/N: I couldn’t bring myself to make the kid’s injury intentional, so I worked it in another way. Also, when I asked for daddy!Dean ideas, I though you guys might want some fluff, but whatever, you asked for it.
Story
Starting on the day she was born, every time Dean saw his baby daughter, every time he leaned over her crib or lifted her from her bassinet, he let her know that he loved her. She got big enough to answer with a smile and return his kisses, and when she got good at walking, she sought him out for it. As she grew more, the exchange became their morning routine. Whoever wakes up first starts it. Dean sleeps well at night knowing he’ll get a kiss and an “I love you” from his now five-year-old daughter in the morning.
“Daddy” —she’ll begin by pushing on his shoulder— “Daddy, guess what?”
“Mm?” Dean’ll murmur.
“I love you.” She’ll lean up to give him a kiss on the nose.
“I love you too,” will be Dean’s response, and then he’ll pull her up next to him to kiss her back and cuddle for a minute. He had to learn to wake up gently for her.
But this morning he doesn’t get that. This morning he wakes up behind the wheel of the Impala with a pounding headache. Out the front window he can see bushes, to his left a highway, to his right an open door, empty seat, and more bushes. Groaning, he straightens up and rubs his head. Dried blood comes away on his fingertips. He doesn’t really remember what happened. He was driving, it was dark, and then he was swerving off the road, glass broke, someone screamed, and then something struck the back of his head. He turns to look behind him where he buckled in his daughter, but all he sees is her seat, glass shards from a busted window sprinkled across the back seat. The straps have been cuts, and a lone teddy bear stares back at him.
Dean panics, bursts from the car and swings around to scour the floor in the back, walks around the other side for a different view. In doing so he steps over Sam who, he barely notices, is unconscious but still breathing. He checks under the car, in the bushes, and even steps into a nearby thicket of trees frantically searching for his daughter, and with each second that passes with no sign of her, his heart races faster.
“Cassidy!” he calls. “Cassidy!”
The sound of a silent environment is the only reply. Dean winds his way back to the car, stands forlornly on the highway, and turns in a circle praying the toddler is only hiding.
“Cass!”
* * * * *
Cassidy doesn’t know this woman. Daddy told her not to talk to strangers, so she hasn’t said anything, but she yelled a couple times, and the mean lady didn’t like that.
Daddy isn’t here. That’s not good. Strange place, scary lady, and there’s lots of cuts on her arms. They hurt. She wants a Band-Aid.
Where’s Daddy?
* * * * *
Dean hasn’t called anyone yet. It kills him not to put an APB out on his little girl, not to put every hunter he knows on her trail, but nobody knows she exists. He’s worked hard to keep her a secret for her own safety. This search is one he’ll have to do alone, but he doesn’t know where to start. There was no sulfur, hex bag, blood, or fur at the scene to point him in the right direction. Not so much as a scrap of a shirt was left behind. All he has is her Beanie Baby teddy bear, but Gabby isn’t much help in or out of his pocket.
“Somebody had to know about her to take her,” Sam is saying.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Who knows about her? Besides me and Cass.”
“Bobby knew, but he ain’t talkin’ much these days.”
“You’ve never told anybody else? Nothing ever slipped? You never got a little too drunk and started bragging?”
“No, Sam!” Dean snaps. “Nobody outside of this family knows a damn thing! And I would know if somebody was onto us because I am the ultimate overprotective, helicopter parent!”
“Okay, Dean.”
Dean rests his forehead in the palm of one hand and squeezes Gabby with the other. “I barely use her name in public, man. The government doesn’t even know she was born. I have done everything … I swear, if she’s hurt …”
“We’re gonna find her. I promise.”
“Where the hell do we start?”
Sam lowers his eyes. Neither one of them knows the answer. When his phone rings, Dean is sluggish to answer it. Hunting doesn’t concern him right now. He taps ‘answer’ and then ‘loudspeaker’, then mutters, “Yeah?”
“Dean Winchester?” says a woman’s voice.
“Who’s askin’?”
“You’re looking for someone.”
Dean wakes up. “Who is this?”
“She’s five, right? Blond, green eyes, last seen wearing flower-print leggings and a purple t-shirt?”
“What’ve you done with her?” he growls. Across the table, Sam opens his laptop to track the call.
“Nothing, yet. Here. Have some proof.” The line is quiet for a moment, and then a little girl’s voice says, “Daddy?”
“Cassidy? Sweetheart? Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“I said she’s fine.Relax.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“We can talk about that when you get here.”
“And where is ‘here’?”
“They say you’re smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“They?”
“My employers. And Dean? I would hurry. They’re not patient.” The woman hangs up.
“Got it,” Sam announces. “It’s not too far. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
It’s a filthy trailer home off a highway forgotten by the town to which it leads. Red paint peels off wood siding, and frogs and insects make their respective noises in the bushes and trees. As far as either brother can tell, there’s no warding or traps on the place. Had they not known about it, they would have passed it by.
Dean approaches the front door with his shotgun up and Sam at his back. A solid kick breaks the latch on the aluminum door. They find no lights on inside, and the sunlight coming through the bare windows is dappled by the surrounding trees. It’s a narrow, obviously inhabited place that opens first into a living room with a kitchen on one end. Orange carpet and paneling from the seventies make it an ugly space, but it’s clean, and nothing they see is witchy or demonic in nature.
Somebody puts a gun to Dean’s head.
“Sit down on that chair,” a woman orders. “Anybody makes a wrong move, I’ll blow your brains out. Now drop your gun and sit.”
Dean doesn’t have an option. The gun is too close for an escape attempt to get him out of the way fast enough, so, pursing his lips, he sets the shotgun on the sofa and sits down in one of two metal folding chairs. The woman instructs Sam, who has also put his gun down, to bind him with a length of rope around his chest and zip ties around his wrists and ankles. Then, with the older brother restrained, she ties Sam up herself and moves their weapons farther away.
“Where’s my kid?”
The woman goes toward the kitchen, disappears down a hallway, and moments later returns leading Cassidy. Tear stains on her face, the girl dashes for her father, but her captor grabs her by the back of her shirt. She screams and struggles, frantically demands to be let go, and Dean strains against his bonds with all his might until the woman points her gun at the five-year-old.
“No!” he shouts.
The room stills. No one make a move or a sound. Even Cassidy, instinctively knowing that the device by her ear is dangerous, freezes and holds her breath. Dean is tense in his chair, heart racing, hands shaking, eyes locked on his daughter and the gun at her temple.
“My employers tell me you’re hard to keep locked up,” says the woman calmly, “so this is how it’s gonna go: you stay put, and the kid doesn’t get hurt. Understand?”
Dean glares at her.
“Good,” she says. Taking a cell phone from her pocket, she dials a number and says to the receiver, “I’ve got ‘em.”
* * * * *
There hasn’t yet been a trap Dean couldn’t escape. Whether it was his doing, Sam’s, or a combined effort, he’s made it out of every one. This is the first predicament where his options have been stripped. He can escape zip ties – it takes time but he knows how – but he can’t do it without risking alerting the woman holding a loaded gun against his daughter’s head. He’s not sure how far he could go before she actually pulls the trigger, but he knows Cassidy is only safe because she provides leverage. As soon as her captor perceives his behavior as uncontrollable, she won’t be. The only thing he can think to do is talk. So he does.
“What’s your deal?” he asks. The woman doesn’t answer. “It’s demons, right? They promised you something if you gave them me and Sam?”
The woman sighs and stares at him exasperatedly.
“So what’d you ask for? Fame, fortune, a way to hide from me when I get out of here?”
Rolling her eyes, she obliges him. “They’re gonna bring my son back. After eight years, I’ll finally see him again.”
“Cut me loose and you can see him right now.” If looks could kill, the woman would be a burnt shell on the floor.
Sam asks, “What’s your name?”
The woman hesitates but answers, “Lily.”
“Lily, we know demons. The bastards talk a big game, but their promises are bull. They’re gonna take what they want and probably kill you in the process.”
“They’re going to bring my son back!” Lily snaps. “I’m his mother, and it’s my job to do what’s best for him!”
“What’s best for him is leaving him where he is!”
“You don’t understand!” Lily laughs bitterly, and her voice takes on a tremble. “He was ten. He was on his way home from a friend’s house, and somebody ran him over. He didn’t deserve that. He deserves a life.”
“What happened to him is terrible, Lily, and I’m sorry, but you’re playing with fire here. It’s gonna go bad.”
“I have to take that chance. I’m sorry.” From a nearby desk, Lily takes a roll of duct tape and then approaches the brothers.
When Cassidy sees Lily stick a length of rope over her uncle’s mouth, she starts to whimper, and fresh tears roll down her cheeks.
“Cassidy, look at me.” Dean hurries to speak. “It’s gonna be okay, baby girl, we’re getting out of here, I love – mmf!”
Suddenly, the toddler bolts toward the door, actually managing to get the busted thing open before being noticed. Lily lunges for her, and the little girl runs for it. Dean tries to free himself and grab Lily, but his zip ties hold him fast and has to hope that the five-year-old can evade a grown woman until he gets free. In two seconds he hears her scream – Lily hasn’t made it out the door yet – and a different woman carries her, thrashing, back inside and tosses her aside. Cassidy huddles in a corner and snivels.
“Ms. Armstrong,” says the newcomer as two men come in behind her, “don’t tell me you can’t control a child. You have her family. Rough them up a bit.”
“You said not to touch them.”
The demon grins slowly. “I did say that. Good on you. Brownie points.” Motioning to her companions, she orders them to free the brothers and adds, “And take that tape off. It doesn’t go with the rest of those pretty faces.”
The duct tape is ripped off hardly a minute after being applied. Dean flinches as a few hairs are ripped out and it pulls at the skin on his lips, and he devises a plan while the demon break the zip ties. He doesn’t fight when he’s yanked to his feet, arms pinned behind his back, but he says snarkily, “Thanks. I think I’ll kill you now.”
The lead demon laughs. “You’re funny, but we won’t be the ones dying today.”
Cassidy comes out of her corner and goes to hug her father’s legs, but she’s kept at bay by the boot of the demon who’s got him. It takes immense self-control to not lash out this second; he’s only got one plan and one shot at making it work. Stilling his mind, he keeps his eyes on the demon in front of him. Sam watches him.
“Let’s go, boys,” orders the demon. She raises her hand to snap herself out of the room.
“What about me?” Lily interjects. “Where’s my son?”
“Where he’s been for eight years.”
“You said you’d bring him back!”
“I did. I changed my mind. You can have that one instead.” She motions to Cassidy.
“I want my son!” Lily shrieks, stepping towards the demon. “Bring him back!”
“No. Really, Lily, what’s the problem? They’re all the same.”
Dean sees Lily raise her hands and lunge forward. He sees the demon lash out and hoist her off the ground by her throat and squeeze. He sees his chance. With all his might, he slams his head into the jaw of the demon holding him and pulls free. Sam follows along. In sync they jab their elbows into soft spots and use the surprise of their attack to get one up on the demons.
“Cass, go!” Dean shouts.
Startled, the five-year-old bolts for the door, and this time Dean makes sure she makes it. When the female demon breaks Lily’s neck to go after her, Dean blocks her with his body and backhands her across the face. He continues the assault by dousing her with his flask of holy water. Face steaming, she shouts and stumbles backward. Meanwhile, San has taken care of his demon using the demon blade, and before Dean can whip out his angel blade, he jumps the other one too. Lily should have searched them.
“Get Cass!” Sam shouts.
Dean runs for the door. A pang of guilt would haunt him forever, but he would sacrifice his brother for his daughter in a heartbeat. Cassidy hasn’t gone far, and Dean scoops her up in stride. Clutching her to his body, he runs for the car, but something suddenly slams into his side and knocks him flat. He lands on top of Cassidy. Something pops, and at first he thinks it was his hip or shoulder, but Cassidy’s pained cry tells him it was much worse than that. He can’t address this because his attention is demanded by the demon on top of him with a kitchen knife in her hand. A successful grab for her wrists gives his face a narrow escape of being stabbed, but the demon, red face blistered and frothing at the mouth, wraps her hands around his neck and squeezes. Reflexively, he claws at her hands, but she has him at a disadvantage. His vision starts to blur.
A thunk is heard. At the same time, the demon’s jaw drops in a silent scream, she sparks and sputters on the inside, and her grip loosens. Dean pushes her off himself as she dies; out of the corner of his eyes he sees a knife handle protruding from her back and Sam halfway to him. Coughing, he rolls over and fumbles for his daughter.
When he grabs her arm, she screams.
* * * * *
Cassidy wouldn’t let the doctors touch her. Each time one came in to the room, she panicked, and if they got too close she screamed bloody murder. A nurse had to put her under just to look at her arm. It was pronounced broken, put in a cast, and Dean did his best to give satisfactory yet evasive answers to the questions that were asked. He was beside her until she woke up and held her when she stretched out her arms to him. Now she won’t leave his lap, won’t even let him go to the bathroom though Sam stays with her. She won’t talk, either. In fact, she’s essentially unresponsive to anything said to her. When he reads her a story, she puts her eyes on the page but doesn’t seem to feel strongly about it one way or another. Dean decorates her cast, but for all the attention she gives it, the whole arm might as well have been amputated. Not even Gabby the Bear gets a reaction.
Eventually, she drifts off again, this time without the influence of drugs, and yet Dean continues to cradle her in his lap, one arm around her shoulders, the other looped under her outside leg.
“I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinking,” he says to her. “I can’t read minds, baby girl. Are you still scared? Hm?” He strokes her cheek. “The bad guys are gone. Your uncle got ‘em all.”
Cassidy whimpers softly in her sleep and scrunches her nose.
“Shh, shh. It’s alright. It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.”
He drifts off face-up on her hospital bed with the five-year-old on his chest, arms wrapped around her. In the morning he yawns and brings her closer to his head to give her a kiss when she stirs.
Hugging her, he says, “I love you.”
For the first time ever, she doesn’t say it back.
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogarukes @mrswhozeewhatsis @hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @thing-you-do-with-that-thing
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel
Warning: None
Word Count: 1,296
Summary:After his confrontation with Kerubiel, Castiel realizes how much danger the fledgling is in and returns to the brothers to warn them.
Part One-Part Two-Part Three-Part Four-Part Five -Part Six
Story
Having been inflicted by one of very few weapons that threaten an angel, the wound in Castiel’s shoulder stubbornly refuses to close, seeps blood and Grace, and soaks up the energy required to heal his other, minor wounds. The pain of it is sharp, the arm prickly and numb, the throbbing deep and reverberating down his spine, but he can’t tell if it pierced through his back. Coddling his injured left shoulder and feeling the sting of his brother’s other blows, he teleports out of the alley and back the Winchesters’ motel. His aim is off, and he lands just outside their room. When Dean opens the door, Cass’ strength reaches its end, and he’s half dragged into the room by the older brother.
“What happened, Cass?” Dean demands to know, letting his friend rest on the floor.
Cass sits forward, bracing his weight on his good arm and breathing hard. “They found me. They know I’m hiding her.” He winces when Dean presses a rag against his wound.
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Angels. They want to kill her. And me.”
“Well, they ain’t gettin’ in here. The whole damn room’s warded against fifty shades of evil.”
“You have to go. You have to get her away from here. Take her someplace hidden.”
“There’s no place close by.”
“Then drive all night if you must. Please go, Dean.” Cass fixes his best friend with a look as imploring as the one from the day he asked the brothers to keep the fledgling as their ward. It works. Dean shakes his head, quickly ties the rag around Cass’ shoulder, and begins gathering his things. In the next seconds, Sam hands him the baby so that he can mimic his brother.
Nestled in the crook of the angel’s right arm, the oblivious five-month-old stares at him and at the motion of her caretakers with her big blue eyes, kicks at the lapel of his trench coat, and sucks on her yellow pacifier. Soon she should begin babbling, and then in a flash she’ll be talking and asking an endless number of questions. All she has to do is survive being hunted. As he does each time he sees the fledgling, Cass wonders how anyone could want to harm this tiny, beautiful, perfect creature. Unlike everyone around her, she’s innocent, perhaps the only one among them deserving of peace and happiness. Cass loves her with an intensity he’s never had for anyone else.
When Dean tries to get him on his feet, he pulls away and tries to hand over the baby. “Leave me here. I’ll hold them off if they come this way.”
“I ain’t leavin’ you here. You’re coming with us.”
“They might be following me.”
“If they find us, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Let’s go.”
Cass is, honestly, feeling drowsy, sore, and a little shaky, but he holds on tight to the baby and follows the Winchesters out to their car. Once he’s settled in the backseat, weariness overtakes him. Dean starts the car, and as he succumbs to sleep, he’s aware of Sam taking the fledgling and strapping her into her car seat. Her curious burbling is the last thing he hears. Sometime later he awakens to find that his minor wounds have healed and that the scenery has changed: to the right is a forest, to the left is a guardrail and, beyond it and a ways down, the edge of a small lake.
“Why have we stopped?” he asks.
Dean replies, “We’ve got company.”
* * * * *
Hands gripping the wheel of the idling Impala, Dean stares out the front window at the four figures blocking the two-lane highway. They stand in an even line, but the tallest – a man so masculine it’s almost cliché – is without a doubt their leader. Behind them, the late afternoon sun dips towards the horizon and stretches their shadows all the way to the front fender. The group moves toward the car once it’s made a full stop.
“Sam, get the kid,” Dean orders. He reaches underneath the seat for the silver dagger he keeps there – not very effective against an angel but better than nothing – and braces for the impending fight. This nameless baby who’s been riding in his car and puking on his shirts has burrowed her way into his heart, and nothing and no one will ever take her from him. No longer does he wish for Castiel to find another home; that’s what he wants to give her.
The angels reach the car, each one opening a door and reaching for whichever man is closest. Dean lets himself be pulled outside by the drill sergeant one in khakis and a wife beater before he starts slashing. He manages to get a few good strikes in before the angel gets reoriented. Then it’s a downhill battle. Dean twists and ducks, kicks and jabs, but the angel would be a rock even if he relied on the strength, skill, and dexterity of his vessel alone. In a move that catches Dean off guard, his knife hand is twisted until he’s forced to drop the dagger, his arms are pinned to his back, and the edge of an angel blade is pressed against his neck. From this precarious perspective, he can see that Cass is holding his own against a pair of black angels, but Sam has been cornered with the infant and the demon blade with a blade pointed at his neck by a hilariously petite Japanese woman.
“Hold off, Castiel,” shouts his captor, “or the Winchesters will have their throats slit.”
Castiel backs away from his opponents who, surprisingly, don’t take advantage of his retreat but rather take two steps back towards their leader. In the lull that follows, the baby’s fussing mingles with the breeze off the lake.
“End this madness, Kerubiel.”
“You are in no position to argue, brother. Give yourself and the child over to us, and we’ll allow these two to walk free.”
“The child has done nothing wrong. Take me and leave her be.”
“If you continue to bargain, I will slit this mudmonkey’s throat come after you myself while he bleeds out. Take the fledgling from the tall one there and bring her to me.”
“Don’t do it, Cass,” Dean says, stopping when the blade is pressed more persuasively against his Adam’s apple.
Castiel studies the scene around him, left arm held a bit stiffly, then sags and turns to Kerubiel. “If I come quietly with the baby,” he starts despairingly, “you’ll let Sam and Dean go free?”
“You have my word.”
Slowly, Cass walks over to Sam and reaches around the woman for the five-month-old. Confused and sickeningly worried, Dean is helpless to watch his friend take the baby from Sam – who can’t resist much with a knife point under his jaw – and carry her back to Kerubiel.
“Cass, no.”
“Let them go,” Cass demands. “Once they’re free, you can have us both.”
Kerubiel nods and releases Dean who tries to read his friend as he stumbles away. “Nuriel, Nithael, Mebehiah, back to me.”
Even when Kerubiel lifts the fussing infant from his arms, Castiel does nothing to turn the tides. When Dean defensively moves to intervene, the tiny woman blocks his path and stares him down. Sam joins him in watching the exchange, both of them at a loss for everything.
“You’re cute for an abomination,” Kerubiel says to the fledgling. Then to Cass, “Will you come quietly, or should I have you bound?”
“I’ll come quietly, but I have just one question.”
“What?”
Cass casts a quick, sly look over his shoulder at the brothers, and then a grin spreads across the angel’s face. “Do you even know me, bitch?”
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles
I’ve gotten one to work just fine before, but I’m having trouble with a couple others I’d like to play. Any help/explanations you guys can offer would be greatly appreciated.
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF ISSUE:
So I’m having pretty much the same issue with two mods: Interesting NPC’s andBeyond Skyrim: Bruma. Nexus mod manager doesn’t work for me, so I’m trying to install them manually. I got the download, made sure I met the requirements, and moved the files into the data folder inside the Skyrim folder (I know this is how to install mods - I did this with Legacy of the Dragonborn and that one works exactly how it should).
Problem is, after I enable them and the game reloads my files, it crashes and will not launch again. It brings up the first menu, but when I hit play, it closes and the game never starts.
Now, if I go back into the data files and delete the BSA files (and leave the ESM files), the game will launch just fine and I can play. NPC’s adds it’s new locations and characters, and Bruma adds the gates/guards to Cyrodiil and I can even pick the lock and enter Bruma itself. Here’s where another issue happens.
WithNPC’s, I can have conversations with the new characters, voice acting comes through, they walk around and such, but I do not get quests (there should be quite a few of them who give quests), and the ones who can become followers will say something like “Lead on, then” but never actually follow me. They don’t even mention if the problem is me having a follower already.
WithBruma, the guards and the gate to Cyrodiil are added, and when I walk up to it the Legate who lets you in greets me as he’s supposed to, but there is no voice acting, and there is no way to progress the dialogue after the first option (saying you want to enter Cyrodiil). I don’t believe there was music either, and this mod adds three hours of custom music. I did pick the lock once and enter Bruma that way, and everything on the other side of the gate was discoverable (again, no dialogue, not even the random “huh” or “need something?” from passersby).
I want to say it has something to do with those BSA files, but I don’t know what as they work fine with Legacy of the Dragonborn and even the diverse dragons mod I got from Bethesda.net, and I have seen playthroughs of Bruma or with NPC’s installed that work just fine. If you guys have any insight as to what might be causing this issue, I would greatly appreciate the help.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
Warning: None
Word Count: 1,399
Summary: Dean confronts Castiel about what the next steps are for the fledgling, and things come to a head with Kerubiel and the other radicals.
Part One-Part Two-Part Three-Part Four -Part Five
Story
Dean is pulled from an interesting though not unfamiliar dream by Castiel shaking his shoulder. He startles, but when he realizes it’s only his friend, he groans and turns back over. The baby kept him and Sam up all night.
“Sup, Cass?” he mumbles.
“I got your message. Were you serious?”
“Which message?”
“The angel. Did Sam really see an angel?”
Noticing the panic is Castiel’s voice, Dean sluggishly sits up. “What’s going on with you?”
“Answer the question.”
“Yeah, Cass. Sam saw an angel on a walk in the park. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
But Cass worries. Cass stumbles as he backs up, and mouth forms a thin line. Casting a glance at the fledgling asleep in her dingy bassinet, he starts pacing. He looks out the window and rubs his neck. Dean sighs and wakes up his brother.
“Please tell Cass we handled the angel situation.”
“It’s fine, Cass,” Sam confirms through a yawn. “We skipped town and drove for ten hours. This whole room is warded. The kid is fine.”
“That was three days ago. Why are you just now showing up?”
Castiel checks the window again. “I’ve been … working. I needed to stay away so I won’t draw attention. There are rumors now.”
“About the fledgling?”
“Yes. A group of pre-creation radicals thinks she’s real.”
“That’s never – what are you doing? Don’t wake her up.”
Dean watches his friend scoop the infant from the bassinet, watches him hesitate with his hand over her heart, watches him shut his eyes and lower that hand. Then he hears the baby scream at his touch, sees her thrash and squirm. He and Sam are up in a flash, fully awake now, but Castiel thrusts the fledgling into Dean’s arms before a word can be said, drops her like a bad habit and recoils.
“I engraved her ribs,” he murmurs. “She’s safer this way.”
With her head on his shoulder, Dean rocks the fledgling and pats her back. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”
After a minute, the baby settles into gentle whispers and hiccups, and Dean sits beside Castiel who has been wringing his hands. Now they match, the brothers and the fledgling: same carvings, same angel responsible.
“What’s up with you, buddy?” Dean asks.
“Nothing, I just …” Castiel gazes at the dozing infant. “I can’t even protect her without hurting her.”
“Cass, she’s over it. Tomorrow morning, she won’t remember it. And like you said, she’s safer.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, but we should talk. Give me your hand.”
When Cass doesn’t move, Dean grabs his hand and brings up to rest atop the baby’s shoulders. There are two small bumps between her shoulder blades. He only noticed them yesterday, they don’t cause her discomfort, and he only has one guess what they might be.
“Any idea what those are?”
Touching lightly, Cass traces the bumps with his fingertips. “Her wings, I guess. She wasn’t born with them. Maybe this is the start of them.”
“You think they’ll come in at some point?”
“Yes.”
Dean nods. “What’re Sam and I supposed to do when that happens?”
“I suppose I would come back and help.”
“What about all the other stuff? I assume she’s got Grace, so she’ll have to learn what that is and how to use it. She’ll want to know about her kind, and somebody’s gotta teach her how to use her wings when they do come in. Cass, Sam and I can’t teach her how to be an angel.”
“I know that.”
“There’s two options. One, you stick around, permanently, and help raise her.”
“I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.”
“Two, you find her a better home like you said you would almost three weeks ago.”
“I know. I’m … I’m working on it.” Cass stands. “I’ll call you.”
“Cass, hold up.”
But Castiel is gone.
* * * * *
For a while, Castiel strikes out on his own. He counts the days as two weeks turns into three and then four, ducks calls from Sam and Dean, and avoids his own kind by taking solo assignments. The solitude, though refreshing, makes it harder to keep his mind distracted. It goes back to the fledgling, what to do with her. At the same time, there’s less opportunity to say something that would endanger her.
On week five, Cass takes a personal day and takes to the forgotten slums of the urban United States. Wandering the alleys, he gives miracles to the poor, the sick, the homeless. In one afternoon, he’s healed and fed those who let him come near. It feels good to be healing and bringing comfort. For once, he knows what to do. The man in this last alley is blind, and when Castiel restores his sight, he gets to his feet, thanks his savior profusely, stumbles out into the sunlight he hasn’t seen in decades.
“That man there,” he says to the stranger at the end of the alley, “does miracles.”
Castiel straightens and faces the stranger. “What are you doing here, Kerubiel?”
“I came to check on you. We were all a little worried about this isolation kick you’re on, but here you are performing miracles.” Kerubiel glances over his shoulder at where the homeless man made his exit. “That was always your problem, Castiel. Too much heart.”
“If you’re here to make fun of me, I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, no.” Kerubiel stops Castiel by placing a hand on his shoulder. “I also came so we could have a little talk.”
“About what?”
“The fledgling. The abomination.”
Rolling his eyes, Castiel shrugs off his brother’s hand. “There’s no fledgling. You’re wasting your time.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, I think you can help me more than anyone else.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I know it’s yours.”
On the outside, Cass holds his brother’s stare and tries to keep his face emotionless, but his stomach drops. Has someone been spying on him? On the Winchesters?
“Nuriel saw one of your beloved Winchesters a few weeks back. She told me they have an infant with them. Why would that be?”
“They must have found it on a hunt. There’s no fledgling. She doesn’t exist.”
“She?” Kerubiel lifts an eyebrow. “It seems she does exist. You’re hidden her well, brother. Engraved her ribs? Warded the whole building?”
“Get out of my way.”
Castiel pushes past Kerubiel, but he doesn’t make it two steps before he’s pulled back and thrown to the ground. Two sets of arms drag him up – Nuriel and Nithael – and pin him against the wall while Mebehiah hovers nearby. Kerubiel stands in front of Castiel, arms crossed and chin up.
“You and Haniel go on a mission somewhere in West Africa. You come back, she disappears for a year, and then she comes back and commits suicide. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean have acquired an infant. It’s not hard to notice the truth.”
“There’s no fledgling.” The denial earns him a blow to the mouth, and he spits blood.
“Let me make this clear. There is a fledgling, you arethe father, and you will tell me where she is.”
“Or what?”
Drawing his angel blade, Kerubiel waves it tauntingly. “Or I’ll kill you slowly. Where’s the fledgling?”
There’s no point in denying anymore, so Cass says, “Bite me.”
His brother strikes him again, this time in the stomach, and he gasps and his legs wobble. “I said tell me!”
“And I said … bite me.”
The blade plunges into his shoulder and cries out as his spine convulses in pain. Still, he reveals no information. Nothing Kerubiel could do will make him give up the infant’s whereabouts. He keeps his mouth shut blow after blow. After a time, Nithael and Nuriel are ordered to drop him, and when they do, he sinks to his knees, gasping for breath. Kerubiel pounces and pins him beneath one knee.
“I’m feeling generous today,” he hisses. “I’m going to kill you no matter what, but I’ll give you a second chance to be helpful. Take a day, then tell me where you’ve hidden the fledgling. If you don’t, I will make sure your last moments are spent in agony.”
He rises and tucks his blade away. “One day, Castiel.”
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel
Warning: None
Word Count: 1,135
Summary:A hitch in the Winchesters’ aim to keep the baby angel protected puts them on the run, and Castiel has a run-in with Kerubiel and his followers.
Part One-Part Two-Part Three -Part Four
Story
Sam enters the motel room much too rushed for Dean’s liking. It’s not the way he moves that Dean doesn’t like, but rather how he has the fledgling clutched to his shoulder and nearly smothered by his jacket. Now, Dean doesn’t claim to know much about parenting, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to hold a baby like that. He’s handed the fledgling quickly, however, and his discomfort is alleviated.
“Have you heard from Cass yet?” asks Sam.
“Not a word. Same thing as every day for the past two weeks.” Dean nestles the infant in his lap and lets her dig her feet into his stomach. “Did you scare him off? Hm? Two days with you, and he runs away. What’re you hiding, huh?”
Waving her arms, the fledgling blows a razzberry. She makes Dean smile. Lately, she’s been developing at an astonishing rate. Only yesterday, it seems, her eyes were barely open, and now she’s wide-eyed and substantially more aware of her surroundings. If she had a name, she might recognize it by now. Sam and Dean have tried out a few names, but nothing seemed to fit. They gave up and decided that they don’t have the authority to name an angel. That job should go to Castiel if it goes to anyone.
Now Cass … there’s a walking conundrum. While his infant kin has been doing some growing, the angel has been entirely absent. He’s uncharacteristically quiet about the whole affair and hasn’t brought up finding her a permanent home since leaving her with them. From Dean’s perspective, it’s like his friend is ashamed, and to a degree he understands why. If Sam had a kid knowing it would be in danger of execution its whole life, Dean would be ashamed of him too. He would do what could be done to protect the child as Cass has done, but shame and anger would be with him forever. Yes, Dean understands Castiel, but when he looks at the baby, at her deep blue eyes and head of recently grown dark fuzz, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s information he’s missing.
“Dean!” barks Sam.
“Huh?” Dean looks up. “Why are you packing your stuff?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I just told you. We need to leave town.”
“What? Why? We just got here. What’d you do this time?”
“Someone saw me and the baby in the park.”
“Well, it is a park.”
“Pretty sure it was an angel, Dean. Call Cass and let him know we’re leaving.”
“He won’t answer.”
“Then leave a message. Just do it quickly because we have to go.”
* * * * *
There are no less than thirty-six missed calls in Castiel’s inbox. A little less than one third of these calls are from Sam, and the rest are from Dean. Many of them have voicemails attached, and the angel has listened to a few.
“Cass? Hey, um, she won’t eat. Keeps whining every time I give her the bottle. Don’t know if something’s wrong. Call me back.”
“Cass” —this one had screaming in the background— “she’s so loud, I can’t find her pacifier – wait, never mind. It’s good. Call me back.”
“Cass? Could use a little help. Sam’s out for a run, and I ran out of diapers. Oh my God, there’s so much poop. Help me, Cass.”
“Cass? It’s me. How many times a day do babies spit up? Don’t know if this is normal or if we need a different formula. She puked all over my last clean shirt. Call me back.”
“Cass, it’s been more than a week. You’re supposed to be helping, remember? You can’t vanish like this. If there’s something wrong, tell us. Call me back.”
In Castiel’s opinion, Dean is acting like a helpless parent, and, well he is one, but he’s overreacting. As far as Cass is concerned, the fledgling’s needs are the same as any human baby’s with the added bonus of never getting sick. Maybe she can be injured at this young age, but she should become invulnerable with time. Really, the Winchesters needn’t worry about her physical health.
Meanwhile, the angel has immersed himself in Heaven’s inner workings. With so much still broken, there’s more than enough to keep him busy. He purposefully stays close to Kerubiel and the others while trying to not attract their attention. Harut is with him for many of his jobs, so it’s inevitable that she picks up on his pattern.
“Why do they concern you so much?” she finally asks him.
“They intend to kill, Harut.”
“There’s nothing to kill. There’s no fledgling. Castiel, our sister may have committed suicide, but there is no fledgling.”
“I have seen worse acts committed for false beliefs.”
Actually, it doesn’t surprise him when Kerubiel, his followers with him, corner him and Harut in a young forest. The leader of this band folds his arms and squares his shoulders. He and Castiel are evenly matched in strength and power, but Kerubiel has always needed to be bigger than anyone else, and his six-foot-six vessel – a well-trained army soldier with a buzz of dark hair – provides that illusion. Mebehiah, Nithael, and Nuriel, two male vessels of African descent and one female of Japanese, respectively, spread out in a half circle like obedient dogs.
“I hear you’ve been following us, brother,” Kerubiel says. “You think we mean harm.”
“Let us pass, Kerubiel. You have no quarrel with us.”
“I don’t appreciate being the subject of such whispers. We do not intend to murder our kin.”
“Then what are your intentions?”
“We mean to serve justice. A sacred law has been broken, and punishment must be given. We would kill only to make things right.”
“You mean to hunt down an innocent angel and an infant and slaughter them both. Broken laws or not, in what world is that not murder?” As he speaks, Castiel draws slowly closer to his taller brother until he is mere inches away, close enough to stare him down in an attempt to assert dominance.
“But you believe there is no infant, do you not?” Kerubiel replies calmly. “There is no reason to defend something that doesn’t exist.”
“What happens when your search fails? Will you falsely accuse one of our brothers and kill them to avoid looking the fool? I for one will not allow you to bring harm to any of us. Take your followers and leave the matter alone.”
Kerubiel narrows his eyes, saying slowly, “Do you have something to hide, brother?” Then he snaps his fingers, and all four angels vanish.
Castiel relaxes, shoulders sagging, and glances back at his sister. Harut is watching him with a mix of awe and fear.
Shaking her head, she mutters, “Sometimes I question your sanity, Castiel.”
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles
Characters:Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warning: Death from unnamed sickness
Word Count: 1,815
Story
He died quietly in the night. He hadn’t been suffering much – or so he said – and aside from the progressive weakness, bouts of pain, and a bit of blood when he coughed, it didn’t look like he was, but he never looked as peaceful as he did the morning you found him. You and Sam both knew it was coming, but it still stunned you when it actually happened. The world got very quiet and has stayed that way, but nobody cried. Dean wouldn’t have wanted that. Per hunter tradition, you burned the body in a place away from any other people. Others attended, a handful of hunters who had worked with and respected Dean, and the ceremony is silent and muddied by rain. The ride home is silent save for the sound of the windshield wipers holding the water at bay, and Sam sits behind the wheel this time, this time and from now on.
Traffic is slow going in the downpour, and when you finally break off to the road that will take you home, mud impedes your progress. Bobby gave you one of his cabins when Dean got sick. It’s small, but it’s quiet and pretty much in the middle of nowhere. If Dean was going to refuse treatment, Bobby said, then he at least deserved peace during his final months. You like to think he had it. Parked outside the cabin, you sit with Sam for a long while listening to the rain. These last few days have been hard on him, you know, and now that everything is finally over, it’ll be hard to be in the cabin.
After a few minutes of looking out the window, you say, “I’m pregnant.”
Sam doesn’t react beyond a brief glance. “You wanna get married?”
“Yeah, alright.”
Another minute goes by before you brave the rain and the emptiness of the cabin and rush for the door. Tree cover provides some protection, but you still enter with your black dress damp and water dripping from your hair. A rumble of thunder shakes the house as the door closes. Sam stands behind you with his hands on your shoulders, and then he presses a kiss to your neck. The sofa is draped with the afghan Dean always had on his lap, and beyond the living room is his bedroom that he barely occupied but still contains his belongings. It hits you that you’ll never buy him pie again, never listen to his bitching about how nothing good is on TV anymore and then walk in on him watching soap operas an hour later.
“God,” you sigh. “Everything sucks right now.”
* * * * *
Everything about the wedding is simple. Plain white dress, a simple rose bouquet, a rental priest, a few chairs for the same half-dozen people who came to the funeral, and that’s about it. You set it up in the backyard of your cabin and use one of the two bedrooms to get dressed. Minutes before the ceremony takes place, Bobby comes in. He volunteered to walk you down the aisle, and he’s doubling as Sam’s best man. After assuring him that you’ll be all set in a few minutes, he leaves and closes the door.
“You look nice,” says another voice.
Whirling around, you come face to face with Dean. “You can’t scare me like that, Dean!”
“Sorry, I can’t quite control the coming and going thing, yet.” He looks down at himself like he’ll find some sort of switch that’ll answer all his problems. “You nervous?”
“About the wedding?” You shrug. “Not really. You really think I look good?”
“Compared to the usual dingy flannel and jeans, yeah. I still don’t understand how my brother got you to fall in love with him.”
“I’m gullible.”
Dean laughs. He first appeared about a week ago and scared you so bad you dropped the dish of mac and cheese you were making for dinner. The first encounter only lasted a few seconds, and you thought you were seeing things, but when he reappeared a few hours later, you knew what you were dealing with. Every now and then he pops up, never when Sam is around, and you’ve convinced him to not say anything to his brother about this … situation. Sam’s been through enough without having to say goodbye to Dean again.
With a sigh, you sit down on the bed, and Dean sits beside you. “Any luck figuring out why I’m still here?” he asks.
“Nothing yet. We burned your body, all your clothes, even that damn blanket you loved so much.”
“Have you gone through Sam’s things? He might still be holding onto that necklace he gave me when we were kids.”
“I’ve gone through everything. That didn’t feel morally right, so you know. It can’t be the car – you show up too far away from it – and I don’t think you have unfinished business. I honest to God have no idea why you’re still here.”
“Well, we’ll figure it out. We’ll find whatever it is, and then I can get out of your hair. But right now, you’ve got other things to worry about. Just think, (y/n). In ten minutes, you’re gonna be a Winchester.”
“I’m aware.”
“And seven months from now, you and my little brother are gonna be parents.”
“I’m aware.”
“Just do me one favor. Don’t name the kid after me. Give him his own name. I don’t want you thinking about the past when you look at the future.”
“I think that’s the deepest thing you’ve ever said to me. Alright, we’ll come up with something original.” You glance at the clock on the wall. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to get to. You gonna watch?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
* * * * *
After the first week, you understand that babies have their own schedule. They’re like clockwork. It’s just that their schedule is on a two-hour rotation and it sucks all the energy out of those who are supposed to take care of them. By the time you feed, change, and otherwise satisfy a newborn, there’s a very small window of time for you to get in any self-care. Little Hannah has you walking around feeling like a zombie, but you love her to pieces. Sam has been very present the whole week, and both of you are so absorbed with caring for your daughter that you no longer have time to think about the other person who should be here.
On this night, Hannah goes to sleep easily, and you follow quickly. Sometime later, perhaps an hour, she wakes you with her fussing. Drowsily, you shuffle down the hall to her nursery, scoop her out of her crib, sit in the rocking chair, and put her to your breast without a second thought. Her little body is warm against your skin, her weight a pleasant feeling, and you lean back and close your eyes.
“Don’t go falling asleep.”
You jump a little, disturbing your daughter, but she’s quick to readjust and goes right back to business. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” you say with a yawn.
Dean shrugs. “With all of the running around you’ve been doing the last couple weeks, I figured I’d just be in the way.”
“I’ve got a million things stressing me out, what’s one more?”
“I’m sure I could figure out some way to make your life more difficult.”
“Careful. I’m so tired I might just be stupid enough to exorcise you.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Hannah makes a quiet, contented noise in the back of her throat. He steps around to the side of your chair and crouches down to have a closer look at her. Your breath fogs in the sudden chill he adds to the air, but the baby doesn’t fuss.
“She looks like you,” he says.
“She doesn’t look like anybody yet.”
“She will in a year or two.”
He stays by your side until Hannah dozes off in your arms. Carefully, you stand up and walk her back over to her crib. She yawns, stretches her arms out to the sides, and drifts deeper into dreamland. For a moment you watch her sleep and long for the time when you could be as peaceful as this, and Dean lingers by the doorway.
“I know why you’re stuck here,” you say.
Dean perks up, taking a step towards you. “Really?”
“I think so.” You pause, hesitating. “Do you remember that case you told me about, the one where one sister died, but she was stuck as a ghost because she donated a kidney to the other?”
“Vaguely. What are you getting at?”
“I know it’s not quite the same thing, but … I asked the doctor to do a blood test on Hannah.”
“Why would you …” Dean’s voice trails off, and then he goes what passes for white as a ghost. “Hannah? No, that was one time. The odds of that are one in, what, a million?”
“Blood doesn’t lie, Dean.”
He bites his lip and sweeps the room with his eyes. “Does Sam know?”
“You think I told him about the time I slept with his dying brother while we were dating?”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Why would I do that? For the first time since you got sick, he’s happy. He’s got me, he’s got a daughter-”
“No, he doesn’t. Ihave a daughter. You can’t hide that forever. It’ll come out, it’s how these things work.”
You shake your head. “Just … leave this alone. Sam’s happy.”
“Let me get this straight. Hannah exists because you cheated on my brother once, I’m dead but stuck here because of her, I can’t tell Sam I’m here, and he doesn’t know he’s not Hannah’s father.”
“That about sums it up.”
“What happens when I go bad? You know it happens. Kind of inevitable. And Sam’s bound to catch me before then. Do you have anyplan?”
“I’ll figure it out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
A rustling in the hallway, startles you both, and Dean immediately vanishes. Just in time, too, because Sam comes shuffling around the corner and peers into the nursery. “You okay? I heard somebody talking.”
“Yeah.” You give him a smile. “I was just talking to Hannah.”
“She gonna stay asleep this time?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, let’s take an hour while we’ve got it.” Sam kisses your temple and takes you by the hand.
As you follow him back to your own room, you glance back over your shoulder. Dean is no doubt still there – he can’t ever be too far from Hannah. Silently, you plead with him to keep quiet now and forever. It’ll all turn out okay. You will keep the truth safe – you have to.
@pureawesomeness001@super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester
Characters: Castiel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Warning: None
Word Count: 1,098
Summary:Back in Heaven, Castiel asks a friend about the death of the angel and learns that the fledgling is in more danger than he thought.
Story
Nowhere does a rumor spread faster than in Heaven. Castiel has barely been gone for two days, but when he returns, the cause of death of the angel has been subjected to various opinions. He first approaches his sister Harut who is trustworthy enough and knowledgeable. She’s one of the few beings he would trust with a light secret, and he has confided in her some of those thoughts that would be frowned upon in most circles. When he inquires about the recent death, Harut is incredulous.
“You didn’t feel it?” she asks.
“No, I felt it, but I know nothing of the circumstances. There are whispers it was …” Cass hesitates as the next word has a bitter taste. “Suicide.”
“It couldn’t have been anything else if you ask me.”
“Why not?”
“They found her in the middle of a demon hideout. Chances are she walked in deliberately. She was supposed to wait for backup, and now the demons are in the wind. If it wasn’t suicide, then she was crazy, stupid, or both.”
“She?”
“You need to be more involved, Castiel. It was Haniel.”
Castiel’s entire body locks up and seems to burst into flame. His heart pounds, veins throb in his skull, and he can feel the blood drain from his face. It can’t have been Haniel. He spoke to her not a week ago.
“You okay?” Harut’s worried voice brings him out of his head.
“Haniel …”
“Were you especially close?”
“Why would Haniel commit suicide?”
“No one knows if that’s what happened.”
“What do they think?”
Harut sighs. “There are a few theories. One is that she was coerced into doing it or threatened somehow. That’s the most popular and believable explanation. Kerubiel, though … Remember Kerubiel?”
“Yes.”
After the fall a few years back, there had been unimaginable chaos. God was AWOL and doubted to return, and Michael and every other official secondary authority was dead or inaccessible. Order somehow built itself up out of the mess, manifesting in the form of bands of angels headed by bold and confident individuals. Violent altercations were common within and between these bands, even those who preached peace as the only solution. Heaven eventually reopened, and when it did, most of those bands broke apart. Those that tried to hold on to this system were shunned until they conformed, and they all did in the end. Kerubiel’s group was the exception.
Of all the bands, Kerubial and his followers were the most radical. Their views regressed by hundreds of thousands of years, and they adopted the celestial rules from when angels were the only creatures inhabiting the universe. After Heaven’s reopening, they’d been reduced to only four members – Kerubiel, Mebehiah, Nithael, and Nuriel – but remained strong, declaring themselves the enforcers of the old, “true” rules. No one really knew what to do about them, but because all they could really do was make some noise when accusing someone of violating a rule, the other angels silently and unanimously simply decided to stay out of their way.
“He was up on his soapbox again yesterday,” Harut continues. “It was funny in an embarrassing way. He thinks there’s a fledgling.”
“A fledgling?”
“If you buy into his claim, Haniel had a fledgling and killed herself out of shame. It was, and I quote, “the only correct action she could take”. He and his followers have sworn to resolve the matter.”
“What do they mean by that?”
“I assume they intend to hunt down the fledgling and the father and punish them. I suggest we all walk the other way until they cool down.”
“They’re insane. Neither one deserves death. The fledgling had no say in its creation.”
“You don’t actually believe this, do you?”
Castiel shakes his head, shakes off his incensed anger so that he might lie better. “It’s just that the law against intercourse is so old. It should be rewritten along with many of the other ancient laws.”
“Have you met Kerubiel? Those are the laws he worships. Take my advice: keep your mouth shut unless you want to attract his attention. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
* * * * *
Hardly two weeks have gone by since Castiel convinced the Winchesters to take in the fledgling. He left them with the knowledge that she’d be killed if her existence were found out, but that was mostly a scare tactic. If he’s being honest, Cass doesn’t quite know what would happen, but he could hazard a guess. The majority of his brothers and sisters have abandoned many of the old laws, and some would be open-minded and accepting of a fledgling, but they’re all prone to support the loud one, by not intervening if not by rallying behind them. Kerubiel would kill her for sure, but any of them who believe that the creation of a fledgling is too out of line is no safer.
While she gazes up at him from her crib with her big blue eyes and sputters a contented spit bubble, Castiel feels sorry for her. She is no less deserving of life and love than any human child. He’s returned one more time this night, heart hurting still from the loss of his sister, to check on the baby. He needed to see for himself that the three-month-old is safe and that the Winchesters’ minds are still intact. Sprawled across their respective beds, they appear to be fine and enjoying a few hours of sleep while their charge doesn’t want for anything.
“If I leave for a while, will you behave?” Castiel asks the fledgling. “I must distance myself from you for your protection, but you’ll be alright. Sam and Dean will keep you safe. They’ll let no harm come to you, little one.”
The baby coos and smiles a toothless smile, rosy cheeks matching the pale pink onesie Dean has buttoned her into. With every breath she takes, she exudes the life force of an angel. Grace burns behind her eyes and courses through her tiny, delicate veins, and Cass can feel it in the hand he cups to her cheek. She’s the purest thing he’s ever seen – absolutely beautiful. The only thing more precious than a human soul is a life such as this one.
Reluctantly, the angel takes his hand back. In the corner of the room he lingers, watching over the others until the fledgling succumbs to sleep, and then he’s gone, vanished as a quick as a breeze, and no one knows he was ever here.
@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles
Character: Dean Winchester
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warning: mention of Alzheimer’s and parent death
Word Count: 4,915
Story
The first time they meet, Dean is pretending to be her father’s work associate. A series of suspiciously similar deaths – her father’s included – warrants an investigation. He won the bet that let him be the one to canvas the wake while Sam spends the night looking at bodies in the morgue. It’s a cool evening, summer; the wake goes into the night, and he feels out of place the whole time. Everyone has money and they act like it. One can tell by the way they talk that they’ve never seen a number with fewer than five digits in it. Dean suspects they were all weaned on some fancy food with an unpronounceable name.
She has no answers to his usual questions. There haven’t been any cold spots or strange smells in the house, and nobody was acting odd around the time of her father’s death. “Everyone was a little off, if that’s what you mean,” she tells him. “Nobody wanted to talk about Dad but still felt like they had to. It was uncomfortable.”
“Alzheimer’s, right?”
She sighs. “That’s the thing … don’t tell anybody, but the doctor couldn’t conclusively figure out what it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said the symptoms were similar, but they came on too fast and too strong. Instead of forgetting the little things, he started forgetting whole days right off the bat. Whole events. It started with the recent ones, but then he forgot the time he took me to Paris when I was eight, going to my high school graduation, the time in college when I brought home that boyfriend he hated …” She goes a little misty-eyed at the thought of it all, and Dean feels bad for committing this necessary evil. “Anyway, the doctor said the severity progressed too quickly to be Alzheimer’s. That disease takes years, but Dad was gone in three months. We needed something to put in the obituary, though.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. So, um, how did you know my father again?”
“We worked together. I’m in … advertising.”
“You must be a new hire. I never saw you around the office.”
“Yeah, I’ve been working some from home. Dealing with some … family stuff.”
“Well, that means you haven’t had a chance to network. Come on. I’ll introduce you to some people of note.”
* * * * *
The second time they meet, she’s in her father’s private office. In the week following their CEO’s death, the family has banded together to keep their company afloat until the replacement gets here – some distant cousin who’s been honeymooning in Italy. She’s changed out of her black dress and into a blue skirt suit and a pair of heels that, especially with her hair pulled back in a neat bun, make her look incredibly professional. When Dean enters, she greets him with a polite smile and invites him to sit down.
“What brings you back?” she asks.
“I have another question for you. I heard there was a nurse who took care of your dad, but I don’t know his name.”
“Jedediah Coombs. He was a godsend,showed up when Dad was homebound and made the whole thing easier on all of us. You looking for somebody?”
“Yes,” Dean lies. “I’ve got an elderly uncle who could use some looking after.”
“Jed’s the best there is. Expensive, but worth it. I should have his card still.” After digging in her purse, she finds a tattered business card and hands it to him. It bears a name, a number, and a short list of some of the services provided.
Later, he talks his way past the daytime maid service and has a look around the house. Due to its sheer size, it takes him a while to do much searching, but he focuses on the father’s room and the bedroom where he assumes the nurse was staying. There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he can find – no hex bags, no EMF, no sulfur, or the like. It’s starting to look like these identical deaths are nothing more than a freaky coincidence, and he says as much to Sam when he gets back to the motel.
“Actually, I think you’re wrong,” Sam argues. “That nurse you had me look into? I think he’s been with every one of these victims. The obituaries mention a caretaker, and when I talked to the wife of the last family – the Hathaways – she said hiring the guy was the best thing they ever did.”
“So he’s our guy. How’s he doing it?”
“No clue. If there’s nothing on the house or the bodies, maybe it’s psychological. Some kind of djinn?”
“Djinn put people to sleep, not suck out their ability for higher functioning.”
“Something new?”
“Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
“And get this. I can’t track Jed, but Mr. Hathaway was seeing a therapist, and I’m pretty sure all the other victims were, too. Problem is, nobody can remember anything about anybody, so I’ve got nothing else.”
“Jed’s got an accomplice. Great.” Dean’s cell phone rings. The number is (y/n)’s which worries him at first, but all she wants is to meet him for lunch tomorrow. She explains that if he’s still interested in hiring Jedediah, she could give him a firsthand account to see if it’s what he’s looking for. He’s aware it’s a personal offer. A letter of recommendation would do the trick, but instead she wants to meet with him for lunch. He knows what she wants and because he rather wants it too, he takes her up on the offer.
* * * * *
The third time they meet is the next day for that lunch. There’s a private restaurant at the top floor of her father’s company building reserved for higher ranking employees and their guests. As with the wake, Dean feels drastically out of place among all the fancy business people despite the fact that he’s wearing his ‘Fed threads’. By the time he arrives at the restaurant, (y/n) is already at a table and offers him a menu when he sits.
“Not late, am I?”
“No, I’m early. Dad always insisted on punctuality.”
Dean notices now that she’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday. All that’s changed is that her hair is a little bit messier. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday? Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you, but you strike me as the sort of woman who has a different outfit for every day.”
“I am when I think about it, but with all that’s been going on, Dad, the business …” she makes a gagging motion.
“You don’t like working here?”
“It’s not my thing. Everything thinks I’m the best one to take over the company because I’m the boss’s daughter, but Chris is the better choice. I’m just filling a role until he gets here.”
“Chris?”
“The cousin. Second cousin, technically.”
“Ah.” Dean clears his throat. “You said you wanted to tell me about Jed?”
She gives him a confused look. “Did I? I don’t remember that. Then again, I would have forgotten about lunch if the secretary hadn’t reminded me. Stress, I suppose. What can I tell you?”
“What’s he like?”
“Kind, understanding, patient even on the worst days. Dad started sleeping well after we hired him. Mom always said Jed had a magic touch.”
“Where’d you hear about him?”
“Well, running a company is stressful, so Dad was seeing a therapist. When he got sick, his therapist told us about this guy who did hospice care.” She laughs and toys with the corner of her menu. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“That’s why we’re having lunch, isn’t it?”
“If I’m being honest, I have … other goals.”
“I’m a ‘goal’ now?”
(y/n) blushes. “I just meant – I’m sorry, this is … this is very suddenly a mess.”
“Would you feel better if I said I have ‘goals’ too?” This bring a smile to her face. Dean likes it, and he moves away from the subject of Jedediah. “So, what’s good at this place?”
* * * * *
The fourth time they meet, it’s for dinner at her house only two days after their lunch date. Without saying anything, they agree to keep their meeting up a secret. They’re not sure how her mother would react to her daughter exploring a relationship so soon after their loss, but family friends have been stopping by every day since the funeral. He brings Sam along as well. They wait on the doorstep after ringing the doorbell.
“There’s something else I noticed about these deaths,” Sam tells him in a low voice. “There are more that follow. First, it’s the CEO, then a couple months later the spouse dies. Cops rule it a suicide every time, and then the heir disappears. Trail always runs cold, and then the company capsizes. I didn’t notice it before because the second obituary comes so long after the first, but then the Hathaways …”
“What about them?”
Sam sighs. “I went back there today. Mrs. Hathaway was found dead two days ago, and their son disappeared this morning.”
“So these monsters … they’re going after families? Why?”
“I have no idea.”
Before they can discuss it further, (y/n) opens the door, smiling at them both. She introduces them to her mother, and then she turns to a well-dressed man with a long but well kept beard and hair to match. He looks like a hippie. “Dean, this is Mr. Coombs,” she explains.
Dean forces himself to be polite through the introduction and the appetizer course. He fakes it well, but all the time he’s wondering what exactly the hell Jedediah is and where his friend is. And also how to kill them both before they get to (y/n) and her mother. Sam actually attempts to make conversation with him.
“So, Mr. Coombs-”
“Please,” Jed says in his Southern drawl, “call me Jed.”
“Jed, I don’t mean to pry, but why are you still here? You don’t have a job here anymore.”
“Well, these kind folks have been through quite a lot lately, and I want to do what I can to help them in their time of grief.”
“Oh, he’s being humble,” says (y/n)’s mother. “He’s been such a help to us, connecting us with that therapist.”
“Therapist?”
(y/n) cuts in, “It’s nothing.”
“Honey, it’s not nothing. You know it could be serious if we don’t get a handle on it.”
Dean asks (y/n), “What’s going on?”
Rolling her eyes, (y/n) explains. “Mom and I, we’ve been forgetting little things more often than usual. Jed thinks it’s stress related, and he’s asked a friend of his to come in and teach us a few stress management and relaxation techniques. That’s all.”
“Why not see your dad’s therapist?”
The two women look at each other. “Dad never had a therapist.”
Dean glances at Sam. “I guess I’m mixed up. Who’s the therapist?”
“Paul Walker. Jed can give you his information, I’m sure.”
“I’m good, thanks. We actually have to be going. There’s a … thing, I forgot about.”
“The business world waits for no one. I’ll walk you to the door.” She does exactly that. Before Dean can leave, though, and when no one is looking, she sneaks him a kiss on the cheek. He would float on this, but there’s a more serious matter to think about.
Dean stops halfway to his car and looks back at the door. “We’re too late. I don’t want to leave her in there with him. God damnit.”
* * * * *
The fifth time they meet, it’s the same night. He’s in his motel room looking for anything to help him take down Jed and his accomplice, but whatever they are, they’re either novel or obscure. It’s a break when his phone rings and uplifting to recognize the number.
“My mom went to bed early,” (y/n) says, “so I’m all alone in this big empty house.”
“Are you asking me to come over?”
“Hell no. I need to get out of here and have a little fun.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“Bar’s open ‘til two. You game?”
“Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll swing by your place in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he grabs his jacket and his keys, assuring Sam that it won’t be all fun and games tonight.
That was sort of a lie. It’s a lot of fun and games even though he keeps an eye out for questionable characters. First, this pretty Daddy’s girl gets into his car wearing jeans and a simple blouse, and her hair is down and loose. The simple change affects her in such a way that he has to make a comment about picking up the wrong girl. Second, she shows him the side of her that isn’t all about business or wrapped up in grief over losing her father. He meets the pool-playing, beer-drinking girl she was in college. They talk as friends rather than grieving daughter and pretend businessman. All too soon, the bar is closing, and he has to drive her home. In the stillness after parking the car in her driveway, it goes from no words to her leaning in for a kiss with a hand on his cheek. When their lips part, he smiles, smelling the lingering scent of beer on her breath.
“I knew there was more where that came from,” he murmurs.
She furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“The kiss you gave me earlier after dinner. I suspected you were saying something with that.”
“You didn’t come to dinner. Mom and I ate alone, Jed stopped by a little later, but that’s it.”
“(y/n), I was there, we – what did Jed want?”
She scoffs and pulls away from him. “What is it with you and Jed? It’s all you ever talk about. He wanted to set up a good time for Paul to come over, okay?”
“I don’t think you should meet Paul, and I don’t think you should hang around Jed either.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t do this. Don’t ruin the entire evening we just had.”
“I’m sorry, but this is really important. I don’t trust him.”
“You wanna talk about important? My dad couldn’t sleep, couldn’t take care of himself, and he was angry and scared all the time. But then Jed comes along and makes his suffering easier. Jed knew what to do when the rest of us didn’t, and now he’s helping my mom and I get through the worst thing we’ve ever experienced. If you don’t think that’s important, then …” She trails off, fuming.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Go to hell.” She climbs out of the car and stalks into the house.
Dean drives back to the motel in silence.
* * * * *
The sixth time they meet, he’s broken into her office searching for anything on Jedediah Coombs and Paul Walker. It’s after the work day is over, after dark – even the janitor has gone home. He sent Sam to watch the house for signs of Jed, so he’s all alone here. Over the years he’s found this to be a peaceful moment in any hunt even if his search is fruitless. Whether the monsters have wiped evidence of themselves or if it got screwed with in the mess of the last week, there’s nothing about a nurse or a therapist. Frustrated, he shuts down the computer and leaves the office and runs blindly into another human being.
“Dean!” (y/n) exclaims. “I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, forgot my keys.”
“Oh. I left my phone here.” An awkward pause fills the space between them.
“I … should go …”
“Wait, Dean. About last night … the whole thing was stupid.”
“No, don’t-”
“It was. I mean, I can’t even remember what we were arguing about, so it had to be stupid. I overreacted.”
“I was annoying. I should’ve let the Jed thing alone, I was just-”
“Who’s Jed?”
Dean’s stomach drops. “Your dad’s hospice nurse.”
“I know Dad had a nurse, but …” She shakes her head. “I don’t really remember him. I suppose that’s another thing Paul can help me with.”
“Have you met him yet?”
“No. He’s coming over tomorrow. Listen, I’d like to see you again sometime. Maybe we could try ending on a more positive note.”
“Yeah, sure. You know, we could go now, we could have a couple drinks, maybe we’ll end up at my place this time.”
“That’s sweet, but I should get home. Maybe Friday?”
“I don’t want you to be alone. We could just drive for a while, if you want.”
She looks down at her feet. “I guess just one drink won’t hurt.”
He isn’t watching the clock, but it doesn’t feel like more than an hour before they’re making out behind the wheel of the Impala. They didn’t make it inside the bar. Distracted by conversation, they let time pass, and they kept moving closer and closer together until their hands touched. From there it only took one little sloppy kiss to push them both over the edge. She took a breath to comment on how deftly he was able to pull her shirt off but promptly started working on the buttons on his. He thought they would at least make it back to his motel, somewhere safer than his car, but obviously they wanted each other too much to wait. After it’s over, he reclines across the seat with his head against the window and hers on his chest. He feels the warmth of her skin on his and the press of her ribs when she takes a breath. One of her hands rests on his collarbone, and one of his is stroking her bare shoulders.
“I like you, Dean,” she confesses. “I haven’t felt like this since college, and I’ve only known you for a week. There’s something about you.”
“I’m pretty attractive, I know.”
“And so humble.” She lifts her head to meet his eyes.
He smiles back at her. “I like you too.”
“So … when can I see you again?”
“Whenever you want, sweetheart. You’ve got my number.”
Dean doesn’t do dates. He does bar pick-ups and one-night stands that maybelast while he’s in town, but he doesn’t date. That’s for people who are looking for a relationship. These last couple of times he’s been with her, he’s told himself it’s for her own protection. She knows nothing about Jedediah and what he’s done and will do to her family, but he does. If he’s being honest with himself, he really has enjoyed their time together. Two dates and one dinner don’t exactly say she’s soulmate material, but for the first time in a while, he wants to stay with her. But first he has to kill a couple of monsters.
“(y/n), I have to tell you something, and it’s gonna sound insane.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“There’s … things you don’t know about me. I’m not who you think I am.”
“I’ve known you for a week, so that not surprising.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “There are things out there, bad things, and they go after people.”
“Like a serial killer?”
“Worse. And I’m not in advertising. I … I hunt these things. I’m kind of like a bounty hunter without the bounty part.”
She’s silent and stares at him. There’s no way she could understand this, but he’s said too much to cut it off now. Either he stops talking, or he pushes forward.
“There’s a couple of them after you. They’ve killed other people, ruined their lives, their companies-”
“And now they’re after me? Do you know how insane you sound right now?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“So, what, I’m being stalked by a killer and you’re here to save me?”
“I’m here to stop them from hurting anyone else. That includes you. Ilike you, (y/n), and I don’t want you to get hurt. The nurse is one of them, and the therapist you’re planning on seeing is the other.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your dad didn’t die from Alzheimer’s. The nurse did something to him and passed it off as a disease. Now they’re coming after you and your mom.”
“Shut up.” She sits up and heaves a breath. “Is this what you’re like? You pick on people who mean something in my life and then tell me lies to make me believe you? To make me stay?”
“I’m not lying to you. I promise.”
“Don’t promise me anything.” Angrily, she pulls her clothes back on. “Just drive me home.”
“I can’t. You’re not safe there.”
“Take me home, Dean. Now.”
* * * * *
The seventh time he sees her is at her house again. He’s going to get her away from Jed and Paul if he has to carry her away from here himself. It’s still early when he gets to her place, and he pounds on the door relentlessly until it opens. Rather than (y/n) or her mother, a maid opens the door and chides him for his rudeness. Seconds into his argument with her, (y/n) rounds the corner into the foyer and stops cold when she sees him standing there.
“I’m a little busy, Dean,” she says coldly. “Why don’t you come back later, and you can tell me more lies in my free time?”
“I need you to listen to me! You are not safehere.”
“Miss (y/n)?” A familiar southern drawl echoes from another room, and a moment later a horrifyingly familiar face pairs itself with it. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m alright, Paul.”
But it isn’t Paul. It’s the face of Jedediah Coombs, and he’s wearing the same suit he wore to dinner. The minute their eyes meet, Dean knows he’s been remembered. Jed – or Paul – doesn’t act as if he knows Dean, but rather he takes his hand and shakes it warmly.
“I’m Paul Walker.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Dean says through gritted teeth.
“Likewise. Now, you seem like a man who could use a few tips on anger management. I am happy to help you, but I’m afraid I’m with Miss (y/n) at the moment. I’ll have to ask you to leave so we can get back to our session.”
“(y/n), please, you-”
Jed/Paul closes the door in his face, and he’s left standing on the porch like an idiot. The first thing he does is call Sam. His message is clear: he’s been recognized, and they’re out of time. As he hangs up the phone, a scream echoes from inside the house followed by a sob. It’s all cut off by silence. Dean doesn’t even bother calling her name, he just slams into the door shoulder first, twice until it bursts open. He races inside and doesn’t have to go ten feet before he almost steps on the body of the maid who opened the door. She’s sprawled facedown across the bottom of the stairs with blood pooling beneath her from a hidden wound. He steps over her and heads up the stairs. At the top is (y/n)’s mother in the same shape as the maid.
“(y/n)?!”
There’s no answer. Fortunately, he finds her in the first bedroom Unconscious, but she’s got a pulse. As he presses his fingers to her neck, her eyes flutter open, and she starts to scream at him to get out. Something strikes the back of his head, and the world goes black.
* * * * *
The eighth time they see each other, (y/n) is in Dean’s line of sight when he comes to with a throbbing in his skull. She’s crying silently and trembling, and her hands have been tied to the bannister behind her. They’re on the staircase, rope binding them both and two dead bodies at the top and bottom. The knots are good and tight, too.
“Dean,” (y/n) whimpers. “What’s happening?”
“Just stay calm, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”
“And how do you think you’ll do that?” Dean looks up, and there’s the monster watching them from the top step. “You aren’t exactly free at the moment.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”
“Tell me when you do.” Jed/Paul leans against the wall and folds his arms. “You don’t even know what I am, do you?”
“I can think of a few fitting names.”
“Oh, good. Because I don’t exactly have one. I like to think of myself as an energy vampire. You know what happens to my victims. The deterioration, forgetting themselves, losingthemselves – I sucked their essences out. Now, here’s the clever part. Forgetting yourself is a stressful experience, but all I have to do is make them forget about being stressed out. All of a sudden they’re sleeping better, more at peace then ever before. And it’s all because of Jedediah Coombs.”
“And when the family is grieving their death, you turn on them.”
“Turn on them?” Jed/Paul chuckles. “No, Dean. I help them. See, losing a loved one is hard. They get so stressed out and lost in grief that they start losing their minds a little bit. They need help, and then Paul Walk is there.”
“Is that what you did to my dad?” (y/n)’s voice shakes. “You sucked out his soul?”
“Not his soul, my dear. His thoughts, his feelings, those things that make us who we are. I’ve been doing it to you, too.” He descends the stairs until he’s in front of (y/n) and crouches in front of her. “Normally, I like to do this slowly, over months. I get more out of you that way. But unfortunately, I have to leave today, so I’m a little short on time. Just hold still, my dear. This won’t hurt … much.”
He covers her face with his hand, and his eyes roll back in his head as a white glow lifts off (y/n)’s face. It soaks into his palm like water to a sponge.
“No!” Dean strains at the ropes with all his might. He’ll be next if he doesn’t get free, but worse, (y/n) will die. With a yell, Dean breaks free, and the bannister splinters with it. Now he’s loose and he’s got a jagged weapon in his hand. Without thinking, he jumps on the vampire and knocks him over. He plunges the sharpened wood into the monster’s chest, and it lets out a shriek of agony. Still, it’s able to rise up and shove Dean down the stairs.
Dean feels every step on his way down. Now he’s got a concussion and a pissed off energy vampire after him. The next attack is quick, but he sees it coming and rolls out of the way. He scrambles for his weapon that has become dislodged and swings it in front of him. Only the whites of the monsters eyes show, and it hisses at him.
“You want me?!” he taunts. “Then come get me!”
The monster rushes him, and this time it gets the upper hand and pushes Dean down to the floor. It moves its hand to his face, and Dean fights to hold it back. Suddenly, the door bursts open and the monster is startled enough for Dean to get out from under it. He sees Sam in the doorway wielding a shotgun in one hand and a blade in the other. Bullets do nothing but stagger the white-eyed vampire except stagger it a bit.
Dizzy, Dean shouts, “Head! Cut off it’s head!” He jumps the creature from behind, knocking it to the ground and giving Sam the opportunity to sever head from neck with a single machete swipe. Finally, the creature stops moving, and both brothers exhale. Then Dean staggers back up the stairs and pulls the ropes off (y/n)’s hands. Her head lolls, but she’s breathing.
“Hey, wake up. Come on, (y/n).”
“Mmm,” she murmurs. Slowly, her eyes open, and she picks her head up. “Who – where am I? What’s going on?”
“It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
“Who are you?” The look on her face is honest, truthful. He didn’t get to her in time. She doesn’t recognize him anymore. Then she looks at the bottom of the steps, sees the bodies, and screams.
“Hey!” Dean grabs her by the shoulders and steadies her. “It’s okay! He was a monster!”
Her screams subside into terrified sobs. Her body tenses up and is wrought by tremors, and she becomes catatonic. No matter what he says, she can’t be brought out of it. All she sees is the blood, the bodies, the bloody spike that used to be a bannister.
“Dean, we should go. Before she sees her mom.”
“I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her like this.”
“I know.”
“This isn’t fair.” With a lump in his throat, Dean pulls the shaking woman close and kisses the top of her head. She doesn’t respond, but he whispers, “I like you, (y/n).”
Slowly, he lets her go. He stands, and he steps over the bodies at the bottom of the steps, and he follows Sam out the door.
@pureawesomeness001@super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester
